


Alleyway Dreams

by MistressofMimics



Category: Loki (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aliens, Canon Gay Relationship, Complete, Flirting, Flowers, Humans, Language of Flowers, M/M, Magic, One Shot, Pre-Loki: Where Mischief Lies, Sadness, The Night Manager References, Theoki, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressofMimics/pseuds/MistressofMimics
Summary: To ease his pain, Theo daydreamed of Asgard.
Relationships: Theodore "Theo" Bell/Loki
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: Interspecies





	Alleyway Dreams

The brick of the Whitechapel alleyway dug into Theo's back. His legs, both good and bad, were starting to cramp as he stared blankly across the rubbish strewn alley. To distract himself from the emotional and physical pain, he daydreamed of Asgard. Daydreamed of walking along the Rainbow Bridge, wandering through the Medina with its medley of strange spices and smells and then to the Palace of Asgard. He imagined that tapestries, scrollwork and statues abounded in those enormous golden halls with their vaulted ceilings and glassless windows. Finally, he imagined the Royal Library. That somewhere among the shelves and susurration of pages he would meet a wonderful God who would end up sweeping him off his feet. In Asgard he wouldn't have had to fear for his life on the street after being framed for a crime, and thus been kicked out of the University, because he had kissed a man he'd thought returned his affections. He hadn't dared try to go home, he knew that his parents would think him an unholy abomination and want nothing more to do with him. At least now he didn't have to worry about his snuff habit since he couldn't afford any, what with being barred from holding a proper job. The only thing he missed about the University was his engineering classes. It wasn't like he'd had any friends to lose thanks to Leslie Langbourne, Esquire, his main bully. Everyone knew that the Langbournes'd had a seat on the House of Lords for over 200 years and no one had wanted to get on the future Lord's bad side by being seen with him. Still, he couldn't withhold the flood of tears and sobs of loneliness that'd been building for the last week.

A soft, aristocratic, male voice suddenly called, "Hello? It is alright, I won't hurt you." from the alley's near end.

Startled, Theo looked up to find a slightly taller than average, ivory skinned, man in a black evening suit, forest green ascot and waist coat walking toward him. Instinctively, he drew his legs up to his chest. "W-who are you, what do you want?"

The man smiled gently, beautifully, making the mirthful emerald eyes shine even brighter. "I am Loki, and I want to help you."

Curiosity aroused, he frowned. "Like the ancient Norse God of Evil?"

"I prefer God of Mischief." Loki crouched before him and reached out to wipe his tears away with a handkerchief. "So, you know some of the Norse tales? Which is your favourite, then?"

Just the thought of it made Theo smile. "The one where Loki and Thor go camping and a band of Giants steal Mjolnir during the night then ransom it. It's just so amazing that Loki convinced Thor to pretend to be a woman and his only real complaint was that he had to wear a wedding dress."

"Oh I like that one too. Although, I'm also partial to the one where Thor gets turned into a frog. Shall I turn the one who caused your tears into a frog, darling?"

Impulsively, he burst into laughter. This must've been a dream, there was no way that a gorgeous bloke like Loki had just called him darling. "If magic existed could you turn Detective Anderton into a frog? He loathes me, he called me a monster and broke my leg."

Loki raised a slender black eyebrow, "If? Give me a minute nothing more and I will show you that magic exists. You can see I've nothing in my hands, yes?" Loki turned his hands palms up and then down, and Theo noticed for the first time that Loki's nails were painted a soft black. Theo nodded before Loki pushed his suit and shirt sleeves up to reveal hard muscle beneath the pale skin. "And I've nothing of import up my sleeves, so where did this come from?" Loki briefly cupped his palms and when he opened them a dark red rose lay across them.

Flabbergasted, Theo felt his mouth drop open. "What?! How??" Slowly, he reached out to touch the dark green stem and, as if to prove its authenticity, immediately pricked himself on a thorn. "Ow. T-that's amazing. Magic is real, it actually exists." As he took the rose from Loki the sound of distant hurried footsteps on cobbled stone reached his ears.

Loki stood and dusted himself off. "I think that's my que to leave."

"Wait, please, you can't leave!"

The mirth disappeared from Loki's eyes, it was replaced by sadness. "I'm so sorry. I have to." A second later, Loki disappeared down the alleyway's far end and the footsteps came closer.

A white haired man in a strangely cut, waist coatless, black suit puffed to a stop in the alley. "Oh God, I can't remember the last time I ran this much. I think I might have a heart attack. Oh God." The elderly American straightened up slowly and finally noticed him. "Hey, have you, uh, did you see a guy run past here? You know, tall, black hair, pale skin, green eyes?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you have that rose beforehand?"

For some reason, Theo couldn't help grinning. "No."

"Oh great, that's wonderful. Just fricking wonderful. Not only do I have to catch up to one of the sneakiest guys in history, now he's being proto-Casanova and handing out flowers. This'd be so much easier if all he had in mind was flowers. Look, kid, I know you're really happy right now, but I can't let you remember the last few minutes." 

* * *

Theo blinked and stared at the rose. Who would give a red rose, a passionate rose, to a known criminal? With a confused sigh, he licked a drop of blood from his thumb. An image rose in his mind's eye of a large, finely boned, ivory skinned hand with black painted nails. Was that the man who'd given him the flower? Why couldn't he remember the man's name? Maybe it'd come to him if he didn't think too hard. So, he drew his well-worn copy of Tales of the North from his inner jacket pocket.

Either way, he could do with the mental picture of the big, blond, God of Thunder tripping over the hem of a wedding dress. 


End file.
